Ghostland (Book 3): Ghostland 3

by Whittington, Shaun

  Chapter Forty-Four

  He had no idea of the time, but Donald was the first to wake, and within ten minutes everybody was up. A walk to the van was achieved and Dicko insisted on driving. Grace was nervous about being on the road, being out in the open, but Donald bluntly told her that being in the woods had hardly been a success.

  They were all crammed in the front. Not one person wanted to be in the back of the van, and Dicko put this down to paranoia, in case an accident occurred or something else. He looked at the fuel gauge and although there was some gas, he didn’t want to waste it by going too far. He wanted to find a place as soon as possible.

  The van had been on the road for a good ten minutes and Dicko was struggling to recognise the countryside. He hadn’t been this way before.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” Yoler asked him.

  He shook his head as the vehicle hit a sharp bend. The road straightened up and all could see houses in the distance. It was a small place that they could see from half a mile away and it was exactly what they wanted. All they needed to do was find a house and transport the goods in the back of the vehicle to inside a suitable place.

  Dicko’s eyes narrowed as they neared the entrance of the village, some two hundred yards away, and suddenly brought the van to a stop.

  “What’s wrong?” Donald asked.

  “Take a look,” was Dicko’s response.

  They all stared in confusion, unsure what to do next. There was a barrier at the entrance and vehicles were parked across the road. The vehicles that were creating the barrier slowly parted. And then another vehicle exited the place, in-between the vehicles, and Yoler pointed out that a vehicle was approaching them.

  They waited for the vehicle to draw near and it pulled up ten yards from their van. The Ford Sedan’s engine was still running as the lone man stepped out of the vehicle. He was dressed in combat gear, appeared to have no weapon on him, and had blonde fuzzy hair, but was clean shaven. He was six feet in height and looked too thin.

  Dicko switched the van’s engine off and exited the van. The others followed and stood at the front of the van.

  “Can I help you?” the driver of the Sedan asked the depleted group.

  “I don’t know,” Yoler spoke up. “Can you?”

  “You’re heading towards our village,” the man said. “We tend to be wary of strangers. Especially ones driving vans.”

  “We’re nothing to do with the meat wagons,” Dicko said. “If that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Heard of them then,” the man laughed.

  Dicko nodded. “We’ve heard of them, we’ve confronted them, and we’ve killed them. All of them.”

  The thin man’s eyes widened with surprise and he scratched at his fuzzy hair. “That’s something that’ll cheer up the folk back in the village. Especially the ones that have to go out on runs.”

  “Rest assured. They’re all dead.”

  The man nodded and gazed at the group. He looked to the side and began to chew his bottom lip. He seemed lost in thought. He then straightened his back and smiled at the small group.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  “Why?” Donald asked.

  “You need a place to stay. Maybe you could stay with us, but it won’t be straightforward. You’ll be questioned.”

  “What makes you think we need a place to stay?” Yoler asked him and folded her arms.

  “Don’t you?”

  There was a silence and they all looked at one another.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  The man laughed and got into his car. He turned the engine on, and did a turn in the road and then slowly moved away.

  Dicko told them to get back in the van and fired the engine as soon as he was in the driver’s seat and pulled away.

  Chapter Forty Five

  The car that Dicko was following was three car lengths away, with both vehicles going at a steady twenty miles per hour. Getting to the village didn’t take long, and they could see two guys with shotguns by the entrance, one of many, of the village. It was a small place, a name Dicko had never been to or heard of, despite only being four miles from where they started off in the van. Donald became tetchy as they entered the village. They were told to pull the van up as they got inside, and the four people in the vehicle got out.

  A man by the name of Ed asked the four to empty their pockets, drop their weapons, and asked if it was okay to pat them down. Ed was a big man, bald, and looked like a bodybuilder. He was polite with his instructions and neither Dicko, Yoler, Donald or Grace had a problem with them. They did as they were told and began to relax when a female, who introduced herself as Beth, asked them to follow her. They entered a place that used to be a pub and she explained that they used the pub as some kind of reception area for new arrivals.

  She told them to stay where they were and they stood in the lounge area of the bar. Beth announced that she was going to get a guy called Derek, who was the second in command, and that they should relax and had nothing to worry about.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Beth said. She was in her forties, dressed in a red dress, and had a very polite voice.

  Dicko was the first to take a seat at one of the tables, and the rest did the same.

  “This is a bit dramatic,” Donald said. “A bit over the top, don’t you think?”

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” Dicko said confidently, folding his arms across his middle. “They can’t just let anyone in. They need to check us out.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t mention that we have all that food in the back, you dig what I’m sayin’? What happens if they don’t let us in, but rob us?”

  “They’re gonna check it out eventually.”

  Donald decided not to respond.

  Only a few minutes had passed and the door to the pub opened. A man of average height entered. He was holding a clipboard and seemed different to Beth. His face was deadpan, devoid of emotion, and he sat down at the next table, glaring at the four of them.

  He placed the clipboard flat on the table and crossed his legs, pulling out a biro. He asked for their full names, which were given. He wrote down the names on the clipboard and spent a few minutes writing down details such as the features of each one of them. He asked for their height, and then asked what family members they had lost since the announcement last summer, on June 9th.

  Neither of them queried why he wanted the information. There were four of them, and just one man with a clipboard, so they didn’t feel threatened.

  Dicko was the only one that had a question, and wanted something clarified. “Why are these questions necessary, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The man was scribbling with his head down, and answered without looking up, “It’s kind of a database. After the questions, we will get you medically checked out and you can join us.”

  “Just like that?”

  The man stopped scribbling and looked up. “Just like that. The more people there are, the stronger we become.”

  “But with food—”

  “You don’t have to worry about extra mouths to feed,” the man sniggered. “When you’re checked out, you’ll be given a tour. On the other side of the village you’ll see that we have acres of land, crops, cattle, poultry.”

  “Sounds too good to be true,” Dicko laughed.

  “This was no accident, Mr Dickson. We’ve all worked hard, and had to endure a bad winter to get here.”

  After another five minutes of questioning, Derek excused himself and left the pub, leaving the four in the lounge area.

  A few minutes later, the door to the pub opened once again, and in stepped a thin man, in his late forties. He had grey hair and a grey beard over his face. From the skin that could be seen, the man looked badly scarred but they weren’t recent ones.

  He walked towards the four of them and his eyes were fixated on Dicko. They then narrowed and his mouth fell open.

  “I don’t fucking believe it.” The
man ran his fingers over his scarred face and a wide smile emerged under his nose. “When I saw your name on Derek’s clipboard, I thought … no way. I know there’s hundreds of Paul Dicksons out there, but ones that are alive?”

  Dicko could feel the eyes of Grace, Yoler and Donald staring at him, wondering what was happening.

  “I’m sorry.” Dicko was perplexed and his eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

  “It wasn’t that long ago, Paul,” the man laughed. “We’ve both got beards now, but I recognise you.”

  Eyes were still looking at Dicko and he creased his forehead in thought. He had no idea who it was.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dicko. “I’m none the wiser.”

  The grey bearded man with the scars took a few more steps forwards and smiled. “Last year, you and your boy were found in some wrecked car. You were brought back to a camp, a caravan park called The Spode Cottage.”

  Dicko’s eyes widened. The penny was finally dropping and he rose to his feet. “No way.”

  The scarred man knew that Dicko recognised him and said, “Good to see you’re still alive, Paul.”

  Dicko went around the table and stood within a foot of the man and they both embraced, but broke away quickly.

  “Can I sit down?” the man asked.

  “Of course.”

  The grey bearded man pulled up a chair and sat at the table. Dicko sat back down and asked him, “How long have you been here? And where’s—”

  “I’ve been here a couple of months. And the rest of the crew are fine, last time I saw them.”

  “Why are you here?” Dicko asked. “I don’t get it.”

  The man could see the other three were baffled and decided to explain in length. “Let me shed some light on what we’re talking about.”

  “Please do.” Yoler smiled.

  “Paul and I go back a bit. He was with us for a few months before he was taken away from our camp by a guy called Drake. Paul was a bit of a mental case after he lost his son, but he helped out greatly when this Drake and his gang attacked our street. Anyway, our camp and Drake’s camp made up and called a truce, but in exchange for Paul. He had killed people close to Drake and we had to give him up.”

  “So you betrayed Dicko?” Yoler said. It was a story she was already familiar with.

  “Is that what you’re calling him these days,” the scarred man laughed. “Sounds like a porn star.” The man cleared his throat and said, “I suppose we gave Paul up to stop further bloodshed. We had kids in our camp as well, you see. We couldn’t take the risk.”

  “I escaped anyway,” said Dicko, smiling, thinking back to days gone by.

  “Yes, you did. Strangely we went to join Drake for a few months, but something happened and we went back to Colwyn Place at Little Haywood.”

  “So why are you here?” Donald asked the man.

  “I went on a run a few months back.” He looked at Dicko and added, “I went out with Terry Braithwaite and a girl called Stephanie. I think we were about ten miles away.”

  Dicko smiled as he heard the familiar names.

  “To cut a long story short, we ran into trouble and they were both killed. I just about managed to escape and ran. A couple of days later, these guys picked me up. I was half dead when they found me.”

  “How far are we from Little Haywood?”

  “About thirty or so miles. Too far.” The man began to chew the inside of his mouth and said further, “They probably think I’m dead, like the others.”

  “Never thought of going back?” Dicko asked.

  “I’ve mentioned it before, but the leader of this place doesn’t quite like the idea of his people driving thirty miles to drop me off and then drive back another thirty to get back here. Too dangerous and a waste of petrol. I might go back one day, but I love it here.”

  “I still think about the old gang,” Dicko sighed.

  “I do miss the place, and I have been told that I could go, but it’d be on foot. Personally, I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.”

  “Sorry.” Donald held his hands up and asked, “Who are you?”

  “My fault.” Dicko snickered. “This is an old friend. This is Vince. Vince Kindl.”

  Vince held his hand up to the other three to say hi, and began to talk about the place that was about to be their home.

  “You’ll like it,” Vince told them all. “And Orson is a good guy, although he has his moments.”

  Dicko looked at Yoler and this was noticed by Vince.

  “What is it?” Vince asked.

  The four remained silent and Dicko was reluctant to say anything, but Vince persisted with the queries.

  “Come on, Paul,” he groaned and then chuckled, “Spit it out. Your mother used to.”

  Dicko could feel Donald and Yoler’s eyes glaring at him, with Yoler timidly shaking her head, telling Dicko to keep quiet.

  “It’s okay,” Dicko said to them. “I trust him.”

  “Well?” Vince Kindl opened his arms to hurry the man up.

  “We ran into a few people a couple of months ago, or at least I thought it was that long ago.”

  “And?”

  “A woman called Clare and two other guys entered a place where we were staying and were threatening. They were from this camp. They mentioned Orson. We killed the two guys, and Clare, I think, was taken down by the dead. We had to do it.”

  A silence enveloped the people in the lounge area of the pub, and it looked like Vince was trying to process the information that had just been given to him.

  “Okay.” Vince nodded and was lost in thought. “Well, you look like good people to me, and I know you’re a good guy, Paul, and I know what you’ve been through in the beginning of this. I can keep a secret if you lot can. I get it. At the time, you had to do what you had to do. We’ve all been there.”

  The four of them looked at one another and Dicko smiled.

  “You can trust him,” he said.

  Vince Kindl stood up and picked the chair up, putting it back where it initially was.

  “Once you’re checked out, you’ll be given a tour by yours truly,” he said. “I’ll see you guys in a while.”

  “Where are you going?” Dicko spoke up.

  “Gotta be some place.” Vince walked over to Dicko. Dicko stood up and both men hugged. “Good to see you’re still alive.”

  Vince broke away from the embrace and exited the pub, leaving Grace, Donald, Yoler and Dicko alone in silence.

  “I have a good feeling about this place,” Dicko spoke and a smile stretched under his nose.

  “He won’t say anything, will he?” Yoler wasn’t so sure and looked tetchy.

  “Trust me.” Dicko smiled confidently. “Vince is a good guy. He’s not very politically correct, but he has a good heart.”

  Donald said, “If he blabs about the three that came to that farmhouse, we could be in a heap full of trouble, you dig what I’m sayin’?”

  “He won’t.” Dicko sat back down and look relaxed. “I think, ladies and gentlemen, we may have hit the jackpot.”

  The four continued to chatter, and a few minutes after, two females turned up. One was an assistant, holding a clipboard, and the other had a small case with her. The woman with the case introduced herself as Dr Lynch and was there to check them out before they went for their tour and were shown their digs.

  Grace was first up, and Donald was last to be examined. All four had to strip to their underwear and the men turned away when Yoler and Grace had to take their tops off. Apart from some issues with body odour, some slight malnourishment, dehydration, and Donald’s long toenails, Dr Lynch was happy with their health.

  “Right,” she said, “I’ll go and get Vince for your tour and then you can meet Orson. I’ll see you around. Oh, and welcome to Uplawmoor Village.”

  The two disappeared and Grace, Donald, Yoler and Dicko were now buzzing. They were minutes away from becoming a part of a community again, a place that had amenities beyond their wildest
dreams, and if they had a doctor on site, what else did they have?

  Things were looking good for the four of them.

  Life was looking good.

  THE END

  Read on for a free sample of Cobra Z

  Prologue

  6.02PM, 16th April 2014. Hirta Island Research Facility, BSL-4 Containment level access tunnel

  It really shouldn’t be this easy. It shouldn’t be this easy to kill 17 people and get away with it. Setting his bags down for a moment, he took something out of his inner pocket and zipped up his weatherproof overcoat. He pulled up the hood, tying its laces tight around his face, bracing himself for the icy Atlantic that waited outside. Placing his travel bag over his shoulder, he held his ID badge with his right hand and picked up his suitcase again with his left. The corridor ahead turned left, and he walked along it towards the secure exit. As usual, there were no guards present, and he stepped up to the door, placing his ID badge against the reader. Hidden cameras scrutinised his biometrics, ensuring he was actually the owner of the card. After a moment, the reader flashed green, and the door unlocked itself, his departure authorised by the central computer. Putting the ID in one of the coat’s outer pockets, he pushed the door open with his shoulder. Deep within the facility’s computer system, a Trojan virus began to eradicate all data related to the card and its owner. By the time the door closed behind him, it was as if he hadn’t even existed.

  He walked out of the research facility, into the driving rain that some might think was sent as a divine force to drive him back within the building that was soon to become an illustration of hell. God it was cold up here, and he pulled his weatherproof overcoat tighter. Cold it might be, but better to be up here than to fall victim to the heat that would incinerate the whole lower level several hours from now. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to do this. They were his friends down there, his co-workers, people he had known for years. But none of them were true believers; none of them felt the spirit of the One True God in their hearts. Most of them were atheists, and deep down, he knew that ending their sin now would only lessen their torment in the afterlife. So in a sense he was, some could argue, doing them a favour. He still struggled with the logic of that one.